Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Richard's hair stood on end; he knew what Sera was about to do, but it was too late to stop her.

"No, no, no, don't...!" Richard took a step forward.

boom!boom!

The trigger was pulled.

The gunshots rang right next to Richard's ears, not just once, but twice.

The two gunshots rang out almost simultaneously, like two panes of glass shattering at the same time. The first shot came from Sierra's gun, and the second came from the other side of the street.

Richard blinked reflexively.

But when he opened his eyes again, Sera was clutching her chest.

Crimson blood seeped from between her fingers. She looked down at her hands, then looked up at Richard.

Her eyes became cloudy, like a large dye vat, into which pain, confusion, and resentment were poured and stirred, eventually staining a piece of red cloth.

Then her gaze went past Richard's shoulder and looked behind him.

Richard turned around abruptly.

At the other end of the street, a group of soldiers stood in two rows, rifles in hand, with a wisp of white smoke rising from the muzzle of the soldier at the very front.

Richard's mind went blank.

He didn't call the police or the army; how could he have time for that? They didn't even know they were there, what was going on? Where did they come from?

Richard turned to look at Sera; blood was still flowing, even staining her collar red.

She gritted her teeth, used her last bit of strength to turn around, and shouted at the bewildered homeless man behind the low wall.

"Run!"

The tramp's head jerked violently as he watched Sera's body fall backward, her head hitting the overturned wheel of the carriage with a dull thud, before her head lolled to one side and remained motionless.

The homeless man's eyes reddened.

"No!" he screamed desperately, looking up at Richard.

Those eyes had lost all reason; only pure, rampant hatred remained.

"You're in cahoots with them!" His gun trembled. "You're deliberately stalling for time! You...you're all in cahoots!"

Richard opened his mouth, about to explain that he knew nothing about it and only wanted to save people.

But the opportunity is gone.

Richard reached to his side, instantly drew his pistol, cocked the hammer with his thumb, and fired almost simultaneously with the homeless man who had been aiming at him.

boom!

The gun spat fire, and the lead bullet was fired instantly, cutting through the air on the street and plunging into Richard's body.

The feeling was like being slammed into the stomach by a galloping warhorse, and Richard's bullet piercing his throat, blood spurting out like a burst wine barrel.

Richard looked down at the spot where he had been hit, and the pain arrived as expected, spreading outward from a burning spot in his abdomen. With each radiation, the pain intensified.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cold stone pavement, clutching his abdomen with both hands, feeling a warm, viscous liquid seeping through his fingers.

Not many, but he knew the bullet had gone in.

Then he heard a dozen rifles pull their triggers at once, like a thunderclap in the countryside in July.

The homeless man, swaying unsteadily after having his throat pierced, suddenly had five or six holes in his chest. His body twitched twice, and the Enfield in his hand slipped from his grasp. He slowly slid down the low wall, leaving a pool of blood on the ground beneath him.

Then everything went quiet.

Richard fell backward onto the gravel road. He knew that the bullet inside his body was like a plug, and only by falling backward could he avoid bleeding, so he did just that.

He squinted, looking at the sky that had finally cleared up but was now halfway into dusk.

The sound of light footsteps came from afar, and he heard someone shout, "Report, sir, all three have fallen."

At that moment, a hand was placed on his shoulder.

Richard looked up and saw a pair of gleaming Oxford shoes in front of him, without a drop of blood or a speck of dust on them.

The owner of the leather shoes is Mr. Nose.

Mr. Nose looked at the three men lying sprawled on the ground, spread his hands, and said to the officer beside him who was directing the soldiers, "For God's sake, which of your idiots managed to hit him?"

The officer's face turned pale instantly.

He turned and saluted Mr. Nose: "Mr. Somerset, it wasn't us, it was that tramp, he fired before us."

Mr. Nose stared at the officer for two seconds, then shook his head and muttered, "Trouble."

Just as he was about to give some instructions, he heard hurried footsteps above Richard's head.

Louise ran out from the street corner, her skirt held in her right hand and her hat pressed down with her left.

She saw Richard lying on the ground, curled up, his clothes covered in blood.

She paused for a moment, then quickened her pace.

She ran to his side, knelt down, cupped his face in her hands, and lifted his head off the ground. Louise could feel him trembling.

"Richard," her voice was more cautious than ever, "Richard, look at me, look at me..."

Richard forced a smile at her, then mumbled, "Mm."

Louise pressed her hand against his wound, the blood staining her cuffs, much redder than her rose-colored dress.

Louise looked up at Mr. Nose, and Mr. Nose looked at her. They both suddenly froze.

"Reginald?"

"Your Highness?"

Mr. Nose looked at Louise in surprise. He hadn't expected to see her here; she should still be in Paris.

Louise, recognizing him, anxiously began issuing orders, as if she had suddenly gained supreme command: "Don't just stand there! Call someone for help!"

Mr. Nose respectfully tucked his hat under his arm and beckoned to his side with his finger.

Two soldiers ran over and squatted on either side of Richard.

They unbuttoned Richard's coat, cut open his vest with a military knife, and then they saw what was underneath.

Dozens of layers of heavy silk, thick as canvas, were sewn into a close-fitting vest that extended from the collarbone to the waist.

Beneath the silk vest, at the chest and abdomen area, were two steel plates.

The steel sheet had been carefully polished, its surface gleaming with a cold white light, while the lead bullet had pierced through the silk and steel plate, embedding itself in Richard's flesh like a small, light gray mushroom.

Mr. Nose saw his outfit, squatted down, and pressed his hand against it. Richard gasped, and Louise slapped his hand: "What are you doing!"

Mr. Nose straightened up awkwardly and wiped his hands on his trouser leg twice.

"You've got some guts," he nodded to Richard, "to come and catch bullets wearing two layers of iron."

Then he waved to the two soldiers: "Lift him up, be careful of his back, and find the best doctor."

Richard was lifted into one of the army's carriages, which was wider and had a flatter floor.

Someone placed a folded blanket under him, put his head on a makeshift rolled-up coat, and then wrapped a bandage around his waist several times and tied it in a knot.

Louise followed him into the carriage and sat beside him. Mr. Nose immediately understood her meaning and gestured for silence to the soldiers accompanying him.

The carriage closed its doors and headed towards the end of the street.

Mr. Nose turned to look at the overturned carriage; the tramp and Sera were motionless.

But then a noise came from inside the carriage; a hand reached out, followed by half a body.

Greenwood actually crawled out; his face was covered in ash, and blood was dripping from his shoulder.

The lead bullet that Sera fired lodged in his shoulder blade, and his entire left arm hung limply at his side, like a ripped rag doll.

He stood up unsteadily and saw Sera lying in a pool of blood, her face turned to one side, her eyes half-closed, and her lips bluish-purple.

He stepped forward and spat out a mouthful of phlegm mixed with blood, which landed on the gravel path not far from Sera's hand.

"Crazy woman," he cursed.

He turned his head and saw Mr. Nose and the carriage that was driving away.

"Get me a carriage," his voice regained its imperious tone, "I need to see a doctor."

Mr. Nose sighed and walked slowly past Greenwood.

"Are you deaf? I told you to get me a car!" Greenwood raised his voice.

Mr. Nose bent down and picked up Sera's gun from the ground.

He turned it over and looked; there were four bullets left in the magazine.

When Greenwood saw Mr. Nose's expressionless face, a chill ran down his spine as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head.

"W-What are you going to do?" His voice changed, even tinged with a sob. "You can't kill me! You can't kill me! My superior knows Disraeli! Benjamin Disraeli! The Prime Minister!"

"I know," Mr. Nose pursed his lips, "but unfortunately, it won't last long."

"Wh...what do you mean?" Greenwood froze, looking at Mr. Nose in confusion.

"I'm sorry," said Mr. Nose, "this is an exit that has already been arranged for you."

He raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

boom!

Something crimson and greyish-white burst from the back of Greenwood's head, like a blooming flower in the twilight. His eyes widened as if he couldn't believe it had actually happened.

Then his body went limp and he fell backward, the back of his head hitting the derailed wheel again, his limbs sprawled out, and he was motionless.

Mr. Nose put down his gun and glanced back at Sera on the ground.

"You two probably have a grudge against each other," he muttered to himself.

He stepped forward and fired three more shots into Greenwood's chest.

boom! boom! boom!

He emptied the magazine, then casually tossed the gun to the ground, took out a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the blood splattered on his fingers.

"Now the report will be easier to write."